Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Fifty years after the last Jews were driven from Libya, Dr David Gerbi, representing the World Organisation of Libyan Jews, calls for justice and the rights of Libyan Jews to be included in a new constitution. The right to return is one of them. (Gerbi famously was thrown out of the country after trying to re-opem a Tripoli synagogue. ) Article in Libyan Express (with thanks: Gideon):

David Gerbi praying in the Dar al Bishi synagogue, Tripoli before he was driven out of Libya

Representative of World Organisation of Libyan Jews (WOLJ) Dr. David
Gerbi urges the international community on the issue of Libyan Jews.

The WOLJ call the authorities of the GNA, the Parliament, the leader
of Benghazi governments, to respect the rights and heritage of Libyan
Jews and how they should be secured by the new constitution on the issue
of Libyan Jews that has been forgotten for fifty years (1967 – 2017).

We call for our rights that has been violated for 50 years. We call for the respect of our rights as Libyan Jews.

Libyan Jews have the right to return to their ancestors’ hometowns in
Libya to visit and to pray for their dear one and to receive back their
properties and to demand their compensation of the private and public
property that has been confiscated since 1967, when the last 5000 Libyan
Jews became refugees in Italy, USA England and other countries.

We call US, UN, Italy, France, England and the three governments to recognize the rights of Libyan Jews.

We Demand justice by the International Courts: We call to the UN for the importance of the respect of universal human rights and the freedom of religion.
Today there are no Jews in Libya because of the persecution, the
pogroms, the intolerance and the racism that force the Jewish community
to leave the country in 1967 when because of the six days’ war between
Israel and Arab countries, the last 5000 Jews has been forced to leave
to Italy Israel USA and England in order to save their lives.

1967-2017 fifty years pass and the historical unresolved conflict is
still not addressed nor is it resolved by the international community
and by Libyan government and we have become the forgotten refugee that
lost everything but not the right to fight for justice, the faith and
the dignity.

We started from below zero and today thanks G.D and our resilience we
rebuilt our life with honesty and we live with dignity in democratic
countries that respect the human rights and the freedom of religion. But
we still want justice and reconciliation through the apologies and the
compensation of our property and for the fifty years of suffering.

We are still committed to support the respect of universal human
rights and the respect of freedom of religion also in Libya. We are
still committed to fight against discrimination, racism and antisemitism
also through the education of the young people that has been
brainwashed through the culture of hate and racism.
We ask that the legacy and the interest of the Libyan Jewish refugee
be remembered as it happen in july 2016 between Mr Kobler and Dr Gerbi
in Tunis in UNSMIL office.

We have museums of Libyan Jews and we have personal testimonies of
Jews from Libya, we did it in order in order to preserve our history and
heritage.
We have a museum to offer information and documentation on Jewish
refugees from Libya, we conduct public education programs that provide
historical perspective, in the pursuit of truth, justice and
reconciliation.

The return is not a requirement and demands but it is a fateful and
humanistic right. We have Jews that live in peace in Morocco, in
Tunisia, in Egypt, in Iran. They can choose to live there or to leave
their country where they were born. There is a freedom of choice and we
seek this basic freedom.

The Libyan draft proposal Constitution should prioritize the Libyan
Jews account. We have to raise the important segment of the Libyan Jews
and their rights, through the history, we have the roots that stretch
back to thousands of years, and additional to the issues mentioned
above. We ask officially and strongly that the Libyan Parliament, all
three Prime ministers, the concerning Ministries and “The Constitution
Foundation” to accept and assist in our case, and the idea of the rights
of the Libyan Jews in the draft proposal of the Libyan Constitution.

Work is already in progress to convert the basement, which houses a mikveh, into a cafe.

Already an airconditioning unit has disfigured the building, but Hatem Bourial would like to see its original features preserved - such as the cadelabras or menorot on the front door and Hebrew inscriptions on the walls.

The front door adorned with menorot. (Photos: Lost in Tunis .com)

The Or Thora Synagogue was built in the early 1930s, prior to World War II, and designed by architects Aimé Krief and Jean Valensi, their names still recorded on the graffiti'd outside wall. It's been abandoned for more than 30 years; torn prayerbooks litter the delapidated interior. (See photos here).

Marc Knobel, a French writer whose mother was a Tunisian Jewess, has applauded Hatem Bourial's suggestion for a museum in this emotional article in the HuffPost Maghreb.

Yakov Rabkin is a professor at Montreal University. An apologist for the Iranian regime, it is no wonder that the Iranians love his book about Jewish opposition to Zionism and that his travelogue in Iran was posted on the anti-Zionist blog Mondoweiss. Nonetheless, Rabkin's account is worth reading for its description of Iranian Judaism from an orthodox perspective. (With thanks: Andrew)

A tank drawn on a wall in Palestine St in Tehran is accompanied by the slogan 'Israel will be omitted from the world'. The author claims that the quote's meaning has been mistranslated and manipulated.

In Isfahan I often heard that the city had been
founded by Jews exiled from the Holy Land in the First Exile. The city used to
be called Dar al-Yahud. No wonder that I went to explore the old Jewish
quarter Jubaré. As I wandered, I saw a small Star of David hand-painted on a
gate. I pushed it and found myself in front of two elderly women. I tried to
explain to them that I was Jewish but they remained in doubt. I tried to speak
with them in Hebrew, again no avail. Finally, I uttered Torah tsiva lanu
Moshe, and they joyfully responded morasha kehilat Yaakov. This is
traditionally the first verse of the Torah taught to a child: “Moshe commanded
us the Torah, the inheritance of the community of Jacob.” (Deuteronomy 33:4)
The contact was made, and they promptly put me on Skype with a relative who
spoke Hebrew. Apparently, she was in Israel but insisted she was in America.

Soon a young man with a kipa showed up in the
street. I uttered tefilat minha, “afternoon prayer”,and he led
me to a synagogue clearly marked in Hebrew and Persian above the front door.
The synagogue was small and cozy, at least a century old. It was decorated with
quotes from the Psalms, parts of prayer. Men sat in one corner and women in the
other. I was invited to lead the services, and was afterward treated to fruit
and cookies in memory of a deceased congregant, whose anniversary happened on
that day.

A synagogue in Iran (photos: Yakov Rabkin)

When we left the synagogue, a familiar scene took
place, even though I did not understand what was being said. It was Thursday
night, and several people argued who would invite me for the Sabbath meals. I
gave up all attempts to influence the events, and it was only on Friday night
that I was actually led to the home of the parents of the young man with the
kipa, who inhabit a spacious home not far from Palestine Square where the main
synagogue is located.

Besides the young man and his parents, there were
two of his sisters as well as a man who spoke English since he had spent a few
years in Queens. We all sat on the carpet, making a Kiddush, partaking of fruit
and vegetables prior to breaking bread in order to augment the number of
blessings. We ate mostly with hands.

After a while I was asked to say a few
words of Torah, and, inspired by a weekly broadcast from Akadem, I spoke about
the two names of the tabernacle, mishkan and mikdash, which teach
us about the pitfalls of excessive closeness and possessiveness. The man from
Queens interpreted, and the “audience” applauded. They applauded again when I
told them that before a public lecture in Tehran, in response the Islamic
invocation bismillah, “in the name of God”, I said in Hebrew be-ezrat
ha-shem ve-yeshuato, “with the aid of God and his salvation”. The
atmosphere was joyful throughout the evening, and I left close to midnight to
walk to my hotel. On the way, I crossed the park Hasht behesht, full
of couples and groups of teenagers visibly having a good time.

The next morning I walked to Jubaré in search of
the synagogue where my host for the second meal was to meet me. I got lost and
walked into another synagogue, where nine men were anxiously awaiting the tenth
one. Under the circumstances I had to stay. The floor was covered with
blankets, rather than carpets, and the synagogue looked poorer. An old man
asked me to lead the services, and once again, here I was reciting prayers
before members of the oldest community in the world. It was moving to pray in
the minuscule synagogue, surrounded by verses and old ornaments.

After the services, the old man who was commanded
respect in the synagogue took his bicycle and headed home. Then I saw another
Jew on a bicycle, which I had never seen among observant Jews. I would later
find that Ben Ish Hai (1832-1909), a major authority in Jewish law from
Baghdad, authorized the use of the bicycle under certain conditions.

My host easily found me since everyone knows each
other in Jubaré. I was hosted for lunch by a family: the parents and a son in
his 30s. Trained as an engineer, he sells clothes at a relative’s store,
earning significantly more than he would in his profession. Later I met a
mathematician who was selling carpets in the city’s famous bazaar. These are
signs of demodernization, partly caused by Western sanctions meant to stop the
non-existing nuclear weapons program in Iran.

The burly head of the family, with a few teeth
missing in his mouth, spoke some French, since he had once studied at the
Alliance school in his neighborhood. He was hospitable, albeit not always
punctilious of the Sabbath observance, and his wife had to discipline him from
time to time. A one-gallon whiskey bottle full of homemade wine dominated the
table full of meats, stews and vegetables. The host told me that the bottle was
a vestige of pre-revolutionary times.

The lunch was copious, and included, to
my surprise, Salade Olivier, which, thanks to Russian influence, became
quite popular in Iran. By then I knew that hosts often offer their guests
spacious shalvar, cotton pants that one uses to sit at the meal and, if
needed, to take a nap afterwards. This turned out to be the case, and after the
nap I changed back to my clothes and went out to explore the city. Returning to
the neighborhood, I was greeted Shabbat shalom by a Jew who had keys to
a few more synagogues, which he kindly showed to me. They are open only on
Shabbat.

Friends in Isfahan introduced me to Mr. Sasson,
artist, architect and owner of the gallery where we met him. He is also
the only Jew to work as an official building assessor in the city. As one
enters the gallery, one sees an ornate picture of Jerusalem with the biblical
verse in Hebrew “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, Let my right hand forget her
cunning” (Psalm 137:5). He remains committed to Judaic practice and mentioned
that he had seen me in the synagogue. His son teaches Iranian music. An
amiable refined man, Sasson extended me a warm welcome and patiently answered
all of my questions about the Jewish community, gave me advice about travel in
the country as well as a few contacts.

He has taken part in over 40 exhibits,
traveled around the world, while his gallery is situated on the ground floor of
the house that used to belong to his parents, a few hundred meters from the
main synagogue. Like several intellectuals I have met, he resigned from his
position of professor of architecture during the years of Ahmadinejad, when
universities reportedly experienced a sharp decline. At the same time, he
believes Khomeini did a lot of good to the Jews, repeatedly referring to them
as equal and “pure” Iranians.

Several non-Jewish Iranians, including business
people, mentioned to me that Jews have an excellent reputation for honesty and
reliability. Their word is as good as a written contract. This image appears at
variance with the European image of the Jew, often considered “cheap”,
“dishonest” and “rapacious”. One Jewish businessman, a carpet dealer, came to
see me in the hotel and spoke with me in Hebrew without lowering his voice or
feeling otherwise uncomfortable. He effusively greeted me shalom as he
was leaving and was not in the least embarrassed to do so. In fact, Iranian salam
often sounds very much like Israeli shalom.

I met Sion Mahgerefte, the head of the Jewish
community of Isfahan, in the lobby of Hotel Kowsar, one of the most prestigious
in the city. The New Year decorations were splendid, and we found a quiet
corner nearby. A friend interpreted as he spoke only Persian. He told me that
most Jews work in the clothing industry, usually in retail. There are a few
professionals and intellectuals but most earn a living in business, often
inherited from father to son. Sion has a company of safety equipment (helmets
etc) but his children study to be professionals.

In
Isfahan I often heard that the city had been founded by Jews exiled
from the Holy Land in the First Exile. The city used to be called Dar al-Yahud. No
wonder that I went to explore the old Jewish quarter Jubaré. As I
wandered, I saw a small Star of David hand-painted on a gate. I pushed
it and found myself in front of two elderly women. I tried to explain to
them that I was Jewish but they remained in doubt. I tried to speak
with them in Hebrew, again no avail. Finally, I uttered Torah tsiva lanu Moshe, and they joyfully responded morasha kehilat Yaakov. This
is traditionally the first verse of the Torah taught to a child: “Moshe
commanded us the Torah, the inheritance of the community of Jacob.” (Deuteronomy 33:4)
The contact was made, and they promptly put me on Skype with a relative
who spoke Hebrew. Apparently, she was in Israel but insisted she was in
America.

Soon a young man with a kipa showed up in the street. I uttered tefilat minha, “afternoon prayer”,and
he led me to a synagogue clearly marked in Hebrew and Persian above the
front door. The synagogue was small and cozy, at least a century old.
It was decorated with quotes from the Psalms, parts of prayer. Men sat
in one corner and women in the other. I was invited to lead the
services, and was afterward treated to fruit and cookies in memory of a
deceased congregant, whose anniversary happened on that day.

When we left the synagogue, a
familiar scene took place, even though I did not understand what was
being said. It was Thursday night, and several people argued who would
invite me for the Sabbath meals. I gave up all attempts to influence the
events, and it was only on Friday night that I was actually led to the
home of the parents of the young man with the kipa, who inhabit a
spacious home not far from Palestine Square where the main synagogue is
located.

Besides the young man and his
parents, there were two of his sisters as well as a man who spoke
English since he had spent a few years in Queens. We all sat on the
carpet, making a Kiddush, partaking of fruit and vegetables prior to
breaking bread in order to augment the number of blessings. We ate
mostly with hands. After a while I was asked to say a few words of
Torah, and, inspired by a weekly broadcast from Akadem, I spoke about
the two names of the tabernacle, mishkan and mikdash, which
teach us about the pitfalls of excessive closeness and possessiveness.
The man from Queens interpreted, and the “audience” applauded. They
applauded again when I told them that before a public lecture in Tehran,
in response the Islamic invocation bismillah, “in the name of God”, I said in Hebrew be-ezrat ha-shem ve-yeshuato, “with the aid of God and his salvation”. The atmosphere was joyful throughout the evening, and I left close to midnight to walk to my hotel.On the way, I crossed the park Hasht behesht, full of couples and groups of teenagers visibly having a good time.

The next morning I walked to
Jubaré in search of the synagogue where my host for the second meal was
to meet me. I got lost and walked into another synagogue, where nine men
were anxiously awaiting the tenth one. Under the circumstances I had to
stay. The floor was covered with blankets, rather than carpets, and the
synagogue looked poorer. An old man asked me to lead the services, and
once again, here I was reciting prayers before members of the oldest
community in the world. It was moving to pray in the minuscule
synagogue, surrounded by verses and old ornaments.

After the services, the old man
who was commanded respect in the synagogue took his bicycle and headed
home. Then I saw another Jew on a bicycle, which I had never seen among
observant Jews. I would later find that Ben Ish Hai (1832-1909), a major
authority in Jewish law from Baghdad, authorized the use of the bicycle
under certain conditions.

My host easily found me since
everyone knows each other in Jubaré. I was hosted for lunch by a family:
the parents and a son in his 30s. Trained as an engineer, he sells
clothes at a relative’s store, earning significantly more than he would
in his profession. Later I met a mathematician who was selling carpets
in the city’s famous bazaar. These are signs of demodernization, partly
caused by Western sanctions meant to stop the non-existing nuclear
weapons program in Iran.

The burly head of the family,
with a few teeth missing in his mouth, spoke some French, since he had
once studied at the Alliance school in his neighborhood. He was
hospitable, albeit not always punctilious of the Sabbath observance, and
his wife had to discipline him from time to time. A one-gallon whiskey
bottle full of homemade wine dominated the table full of meats, stews
and vegetables. The host told me that the bottle was a vestige of
pre-revolutionary times. The lunch was copious, and included, to my
surprise, Salade Olivier, which, thanks to Russian influence, became quite popular in Iran. By then I knew that hosts often offer their guests spacious shalvar,
cotton pants that one uses to sit at the meal and, if needed, to take a
nap afterwards. This turned out to be the case, and after the nap I
changed back to my clothes and went out to explore the city. Returning
to the neighborhood, I was greeted Shabbat shalom by a Jew who had keys to a few more synagogues, which he kindly showed to me. They are open only on Shabbat.

Friends in Isfahan introduced me to Mr. Sasson, artist, architect and owner of the gallery where we met him.He
is also the only Jew to work as an official building assessor in the
city. As one enters the gallery, one sees an ornate picture of Jerusalem
with the biblical verse in Hebrew “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, Let my right hand forget her cunning” (Psalm 137:5). He remains committed to Judaic practice and mentioned that he had seen me in the synagogue.His son teaches Iranian music. An
amiable refined man, Sasson extended me a warm welcome and patiently
answered all of my questions about the Jewish community, gave me advice
about travel in the country as well as a few contacts. He has taken part
in over 40 exhibits, traveled around the world, while his gallery is
situated on the ground floor of the house that used to belong to his
parents, a few hundred meters from the main synagogue. Like several
intellectuals I have met, he resigned from his position of professor of
architecture during the years of Ahmadinejad, when universities
reportedly experienced a sharp decline. At the
same time, he believes Khomeini did a lot of good to the Jews,
repeatedly referring to them as equal and “pure” Iranians.

Several non-Jewish Iranians,
including business people, mentioned to me that Jews have an excellent
reputation for honesty and reliability. Their word is as good as a
written contract. This image appears at variance with the European image
of the Jew, often considered “cheap”, “dishonest” and “rapacious”. One
Jewish businessman, a carpet dealer, came to see me in the hotel and
spoke with me in Hebrew without lowering his voice or feeling otherwise
uncomfortable. He effusively greeted me shalom as he was leaving and was not in the least embarrassed to do so. In fact, Iranian salam often sounds very much like Israeli shalom.

I met Sion Mahgerefte,the
head of the Jewish community of Isfahan, in the lobby of Hotel Kowsar,
one of the most prestigious in the city. The New Year decorations were
splendid, and we found a quiet corner nearby. A friend interpreted as he
spoke only Persian. He told me that most Jews work in the clothing
industry, usually in retail. There are a few professionals and
intellectuals but most earn a living in business, often inherited from
father to son. Sion has a company of safety equipment (helmets etc) but
his children study to be professionals.

- See more at: http://mondoweiss.net/2017/02/jews-iran-travelogue/#sthash.OzraomEQ.dpuf

In
Isfahan I often heard that the city had been founded by Jews exiled
from the Holy Land in the First Exile. The city used to be called Dar al-Yahud. No
wonder that I went to explore the old Jewish quarter Jubaré. As I
wandered, I saw a small Star of David hand-painted on a gate. I pushed
it and found myself in front of two elderly women. I tried to explain to
them that I was Jewish but they remained in doubt. I tried to speak
with them in Hebrew, again no avail. Finally, I uttered Torah tsiva lanu Moshe, and they joyfully responded morasha kehilat Yaakov. This
is traditionally the first verse of the Torah taught to a child: “Moshe
commanded us the Torah, the inheritance of the community of Jacob.” (Deuteronomy 33:4)
The contact was made, and they promptly put me on Skype with a relative
who spoke Hebrew. Apparently, she was in Israel but insisted she was in
America.

Soon a young man with a kipa showed up in the street. I uttered tefilat minha, “afternoon prayer”,and
he led me to a synagogue clearly marked in Hebrew and Persian above the
front door. The synagogue was small and cozy, at least a century old.
It was decorated with quotes from the Psalms, parts of prayer. Men sat
in one corner and women in the other. I was invited to lead the
services, and was afterward treated to fruit and cookies in memory of a
deceased congregant, whose anniversary happened on that day.

When we left the synagogue, a
familiar scene took place, even though I did not understand what was
being said. It was Thursday night, and several people argued who would
invite me for the Sabbath meals. I gave up all attempts to influence the
events, and it was only on Friday night that I was actually led to the
home of the parents of the young man with the kipa, who inhabit a
spacious home not far from Palestine Square where the main synagogue is
located.

Besides the young man and his
parents, there were two of his sisters as well as a man who spoke
English since he had spent a few years in Queens. We all sat on the
carpet, making a Kiddush, partaking of fruit and vegetables prior to
breaking bread in order to augment the number of blessings. We ate
mostly with hands. After a while I was asked to say a few words of
Torah, and, inspired by a weekly broadcast from Akadem, I spoke about
the two names of the tabernacle, mishkan and mikdash, which
teach us about the pitfalls of excessive closeness and possessiveness.
The man from Queens interpreted, and the “audience” applauded. They
applauded again when I told them that before a public lecture in Tehran,
in response the Islamic invocation bismillah, “in the name of God”, I said in Hebrew be-ezrat ha-shem ve-yeshuato, “with the aid of God and his salvation”. The atmosphere was joyful throughout the evening, and I left close to midnight to walk to my hotel.On the way, I crossed the park Hasht behesht, full of couples and groups of teenagers visibly having a good time.

The next morning I walked to
Jubaré in search of the synagogue where my host for the second meal was
to meet me. I got lost and walked into another synagogue, where nine men
were anxiously awaiting the tenth one. Under the circumstances I had to
stay. The floor was covered with blankets, rather than carpets, and the
synagogue looked poorer. An old man asked me to lead the services, and
once again, here I was reciting prayers before members of the oldest
community in the world. It was moving to pray in the minuscule
synagogue, surrounded by verses and old ornaments.

After the services, the old man
who was commanded respect in the synagogue took his bicycle and headed
home. Then I saw another Jew on a bicycle, which I had never seen among
observant Jews. I would later find that Ben Ish Hai (1832-1909), a major
authority in Jewish law from Baghdad, authorized the use of the bicycle
under certain conditions.

My host easily found me since
everyone knows each other in Jubaré. I was hosted for lunch by a family:
the parents and a son in his 30s. Trained as an engineer, he sells
clothes at a relative’s store, earning significantly more than he would
in his profession. Later I met a mathematician who was selling carpets
in the city’s famous bazaar. These are signs of demodernization, partly
caused by Western sanctions meant to stop the non-existing nuclear
weapons program in Iran.

The burly head of the family,
with a few teeth missing in his mouth, spoke some French, since he had
once studied at the Alliance school in his neighborhood. He was
hospitable, albeit not always punctilious of the Sabbath observance, and
his wife had to discipline him from time to time. A one-gallon whiskey
bottle full of homemade wine dominated the table full of meats, stews
and vegetables. The host told me that the bottle was a vestige of
pre-revolutionary times. The lunch was copious, and included, to my
surprise, Salade Olivier, which, thanks to Russian influence, became quite popular in Iran. By then I knew that hosts often offer their guests spacious shalvar,
cotton pants that one uses to sit at the meal and, if needed, to take a
nap afterwards. This turned out to be the case, and after the nap I
changed back to my clothes and went out to explore the city. Returning
to the neighborhood, I was greeted Shabbat shalom by a Jew who had keys to a few more synagogues, which he kindly showed to me. They are open only on Shabbat.

Friends in Isfahan introduced me to Mr. Sasson, artist, architect and owner of the gallery where we met him.He
is also the only Jew to work as an official building assessor in the
city. As one enters the gallery, one sees an ornate picture of Jerusalem
with the biblical verse in Hebrew “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, Let my right hand forget her cunning” (Psalm 137:5). He remains committed to Judaic practice and mentioned that he had seen me in the synagogue.His son teaches Iranian music. An
amiable refined man, Sasson extended me a warm welcome and patiently
answered all of my questions about the Jewish community, gave me advice
about travel in the country as well as a few contacts. He has taken part
in over 40 exhibits, traveled around the world, while his gallery is
situated on the ground floor of the house that used to belong to his
parents, a few hundred meters from the main synagogue. Like several
intellectuals I have met, he resigned from his position of professor of
architecture during the years of Ahmadinejad, when universities
reportedly experienced a sharp decline. At the
same time, he believes Khomeini did a lot of good to the Jews,
repeatedly referring to them as equal and “pure” Iranians.

Several non-Jewish Iranians,
including business people, mentioned to me that Jews have an excellent
reputation for honesty and reliability. Their word is as good as a
written contract. This image appears at variance with the European image
of the Jew, often considered “cheap”, “dishonest” and “rapacious”. One
Jewish businessman, a carpet dealer, came to see me in the hotel and
spoke with me in Hebrew without lowering his voice or feeling otherwise
uncomfortable. He effusively greeted me shalom as he was leaving and was not in the least embarrassed to do so. In fact, Iranian salam often sounds very much like Israeli shalom.

I met Sion Mahgerefte,the
head of the Jewish community of Isfahan, in the lobby of Hotel Kowsar,
one of the most prestigious in the city. The New Year decorations were
splendid, and we found a quiet corner nearby. A friend interpreted as he
spoke only Persian. He told me that most Jews work in the clothing
industry, usually in retail. There are a few professionals and
intellectuals but most earn a living in business, often inherited from
father to son. Sion has a company of safety equipment (helmets etc) but
his children study to be professionals.

- See more at: http://mondoweiss.net/2017/02/jews-iran-travelogue/#sthash.OzraomEQ.dpuf

In
Isfahan I often heard that the city had been founded by Jews exiled
from the Holy Land in the First Exile. The city used to be called Dar al-Yahud. No
wonder that I went to explore the old Jewish quarter Jubaré. As I
wandered, I saw a small Star of David hand-painted on a gate. I pushed
it and found myself in front of two elderly women. I tried to explain to
them that I was Jewish but they remained in doubt. I tried to speak
with them in Hebrew, again no avail. Finally, I uttered Torah tsiva lanu Moshe, and they joyfully responded morasha kehilat Yaakov. This
is traditionally the first verse of the Torah taught to a child: “Moshe
commanded us the Torah, the inheritance of the community of Jacob.” (Deuteronomy 33:4)
The contact was made, and they promptly put me on Skype with a relative
who spoke Hebrew. Apparently, she was in Israel but insisted she was in
America.

Soon a young man with a kipa showed up in the street. I uttered tefilat minha, “afternoon prayer”,and
he led me to a synagogue clearly marked in Hebrew and Persian above the
front door. The synagogue was small and cozy, at least a century old.
It was decorated with quotes from the Psalms, parts of prayer. Men sat
in one corner and women in the other. I was invited to lead the
services, and was afterward treated to fruit and cookies in memory of a
deceased congregant, whose anniversary happened on that day.

When we left the synagogue, a
familiar scene took place, even though I did not understand what was
being said. It was Thursday night, and several people argued who would
invite me for the Sabbath meals. I gave up all attempts to influence the
events, and it was only on Friday night that I was actually led to the
home of the parents of the young man with the kipa, who inhabit a
spacious home not far from Palestine Square where the main synagogue is
located.

Besides the young man and his
parents, there were two of his sisters as well as a man who spoke
English since he had spent a few years in Queens. We all sat on the
carpet, making a Kiddush, partaking of fruit and vegetables prior to
breaking bread in order to augment the number of blessings. We ate
mostly with hands. After a while I was asked to say a few words of
Torah, and, inspired by a weekly broadcast from Akadem, I spoke about
the two names of the tabernacle, mishkan and mikdash, which
teach us about the pitfalls of excessive closeness and possessiveness.
The man from Queens interpreted, and the “audience” applauded. They
applauded again when I told them that before a public lecture in Tehran,
in response the Islamic invocation bismillah, “in the name of God”, I said in Hebrew be-ezrat ha-shem ve-yeshuato, “with the aid of God and his salvation”. The atmosphere was joyful throughout the evening, and I left close to midnight to walk to my hotel.On the way, I crossed the park Hasht behesht, full of couples and groups of teenagers visibly having a good time.

The next morning I walked to
Jubaré in search of the synagogue where my host for the second meal was
to meet me. I got lost and walked into another synagogue, where nine men
were anxiously awaiting the tenth one. Under the circumstances I had to
stay. The floor was covered with blankets, rather than carpets, and the
synagogue looked poorer. An old man asked me to lead the services, and
once again, here I was reciting prayers before members of the oldest
community in the world. It was moving to pray in the minuscule
synagogue, surrounded by verses and old ornaments.

After the services, the old man
who was commanded respect in the synagogue took his bicycle and headed
home. Then I saw another Jew on a bicycle, which I had never seen among
observant Jews. I would later find that Ben Ish Hai (1832-1909), a major
authority in Jewish law from Baghdad, authorized the use of the bicycle
under certain conditions.

My host easily found me since
everyone knows each other in Jubaré. I was hosted for lunch by a family:
the parents and a son in his 30s. Trained as an engineer, he sells
clothes at a relative’s store, earning significantly more than he would
in his profession. Later I met a mathematician who was selling carpets
in the city’s famous bazaar. These are signs of demodernization, partly
caused by Western sanctions meant to stop the non-existing nuclear
weapons program in Iran.

The burly head of the family,
with a few teeth missing in his mouth, spoke some French, since he had
once studied at the Alliance school in his neighborhood. He was
hospitable, albeit not always punctilious of the Sabbath observance, and
his wife had to discipline him from time to time. A one-gallon whiskey
bottle full of homemade wine dominated the table full of meats, stews
and vegetables. The host told me that the bottle was a vestige of
pre-revolutionary times. The lunch was copious, and included, to my
surprise, Salade Olivier, which, thanks to Russian influence, became quite popular in Iran. By then I knew that hosts often offer their guests spacious shalvar,
cotton pants that one uses to sit at the meal and, if needed, to take a
nap afterwards. This turned out to be the case, and after the nap I
changed back to my clothes and went out to explore the city. Returning
to the neighborhood, I was greeted Shabbat shalom by a Jew who had keys to a few more synagogues, which he kindly showed to me. They are open only on Shabbat.

Friends in Isfahan introduced me to Mr. Sasson, artist, architect and owner of the gallery where we met him.He
is also the only Jew to work as an official building assessor in the
city. As one enters the gallery, one sees an ornate picture of Jerusalem
with the biblical verse in Hebrew “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, Let my right hand forget her cunning” (Psalm 137:5). He remains committed to Judaic practice and mentioned that he had seen me in the synagogue.His son teaches Iranian music. An
amiable refined man, Sasson extended me a warm welcome and patiently
answered all of my questions about the Jewish community, gave me advice
about travel in the country as well as a few contacts. He has taken part
in over 40 exhibits, traveled around the world, while his gallery is
situated on the ground floor of the house that used to belong to his
parents, a few hundred meters from the main synagogue. Like several
intellectuals I have met, he resigned from his position of professor of
architecture during the years of Ahmadinejad, when universities
reportedly experienced a sharp decline. At the
same time, he believes Khomeini did a lot of good to the Jews,
repeatedly referring to them as equal and “pure” Iranians.

Several non-Jewish Iranians,
including business people, mentioned to me that Jews have an excellent
reputation for honesty and reliability. Their word is as good as a
written contract. This image appears at variance with the European image
of the Jew, often considered “cheap”, “dishonest” and “rapacious”. One
Jewish businessman, a carpet dealer, came to see me in the hotel and
spoke with me in Hebrew without lowering his voice or feeling otherwise
uncomfortable. He effusively greeted me shalom as he was leaving and was not in the least embarrassed to do so. In fact, Iranian salam often sounds very much like Israeli shalom.

I met Sion Mahgerefte,the
head of the Jewish community of Isfahan, in the lobby of Hotel Kowsar,
one of the most prestigious in the city. The New Year decorations were
splendid, and we found a quiet corner nearby. A friend interpreted as he
spoke only Persian. He told me that most Jews work in the clothing
industry, usually in retail. There are a few professionals and
intellectuals but most earn a living in business, often inherited from
father to son. Sion has a company of safety equipment (helmets etc) but
his children study to be professionals.

- See more at: http://mondoweiss.net/2017/02/jews-iran-travelogue/#sthash.OzraomEQ.dpuf

Sunday, February 26, 2017

It seems that the US authorities are being stricter about whom they are letting into the country, following Donald Trump's 90-day ban on travellers from seven Muslim states. But the detention for 10 hours at Houston airport of a French-Jewish academic born in Egypt is baffling - not least because Egypt is not one of the seven states. JTA reports (with thanks: Michelle):

Henry Rousso: mistaken for an 'illegal alien'

WASHINGTON (JTA) – U.S.
authorities came close to deporting an Egyptian-born French Jewish
Holocaust-era scholar on his way to speak at a symposium at Texas
A&M University.

Henry Rousso was detained for ten hours starting Wednesday evening in
Houston. The university enlisted one of its law professors who
specializes in immigrant rights to intervene, The Eagle, a news site
covering the Bryan-College Station area, where the university is
located, reported on Saturday.

The newspaper reported that there was a “misunderstanding” regarding
Rousso’s visa, leading authorities to classify him as an illegal alien.
Rousso confirmed his ordeal on Twitter.

Update: these photos of the award ceremony on 27 February 2017 show minister Gila Gamliel addressing the audience. (Middle) The three winners (from left) were Moshe Gavra, Levana Zamir and Shimon Ohayon. (Bottom) Levana Zamir with her daughter and grandchildren pose with minister of defence Avigdor Liberman (Photos: Lily Shor; Levana Zamir)

The Israel Prime
Minister's Award for encouraging and empowering the study of
communities from Arab countries and Iran will be awarded on Monday to
three winners - the Dahan Center at Bar Ilan University, Dr. Moshe Gavra, who has researched
the Jews of Yemen, and Levana Zamir, who heads the Organizations of
Jews from Arab countries and Iran, for her studies on the Jews of Egypt. Arutz Sheva reports on a radio interview given by minister Gamliel:

Minister Gila Gamliel: Mizrahi history is missing

Minister for social equality Gila Gamliel
explained that the award, for the sum of 150 thousand shekels to be divided between the three winners, "is designed to encourage and enhance the
study of Eastern Jewry....The only version of the history of the Jews we see is of European
Jews - Mizrahi (Eastern) Jewry is missing. We realized that the subject is
not taught, that not much of significance was written about it, and we want to uncover
the stories of communities in all the countries - how they adapted, how they kept Judaism, who were the rabbis and leaders there, how they got along with
the neighbours, what riots were there, what caused the immigration to Israel, who was
expelled, and so on. This story needs to be told to all the people of Israel. Even internationally, it is important to tell this story, now that the Arab
countries are almost empty of Jews. "(...)

The award winners are:

The Dahan Center
at Bar Ilan University: "The Dahan Center for Culture, social and
educational heritage of Sephardic and Oriental Studies named after Aharon and Rachel
Dahan at Bar-Ilan University was established for the purpose of fostering
and preserving awareness of the
cultural wealth of Spain and the Mizrahi communities in Israel's heritage.

Dr. Moshe Gavra: from Bar Ilan University, Department of Talmud.
Engaged in decades of study of Yemenite Jewry, Dr Gavra is a senior lecturer at Ashkelon College. Dr. Gavra gets the prize for his research on "Mass
immigration from Yemen."

Levana Zamir: Born in Egypt.
Since 2015, she has been Chairman of the organizations of Jews from Arab countries
and Iran, chairman of the Egyptian-Israeli Friendship Association.
Mrs. Zamir receives the award for her research on "The Golden Age of
the Jews of Egypt - and the option of the Mediterranean union between the
peoples of the region".

Friday, February 24, 2017

A chance encounter between Sami Solmaz, a Kurdish film-maker, and Jason Guberman, director of Diarna (Digital Heritage Mapping), became a partnership to preserve ancient Jewish history before it vanishes. Feature by Emily Feldman in Newsweek Magazine (with thanks: Boruch):

Solmaz, who was in Iraq to collect footage for his film about ISIS,
offered to visit abandoned Jewish villages for Guberman. The two had met
in the summer of 2014 at the Center for Jewish History in New
York—Solmaz was there to inquire about using the building’s archives to
research a documentary about Kurdish Jews, which he would be filming in
Syria and Iraq. He wound up in Diarna’s office, where he and Guberman
chatted about his interest in Jewish culture.

Solmaz had grown up in
Turkey’s southeast, and his grandparents had told him stories about the
minorities who no longer lived there—Jews, Armenians, Greeks and
Assyrians. By the time Solmaz was born in 1963, Ottoman and Turkish
authorities had massacred or deported most of them in campaigns to
“Turkify” the nation in its violent early days, a part of his country’s
history that he thought about often in his work as a war correspondent
and independent filmmaker.

As Guberman listened, he realized he might be able to recruit Solmaz
to help Diarna. But doing so would be dangerous. Syria’s civil war was
in its third year, and ISIS was taking over major cities and towns in
Iraq. Guberman worried that Solmaz could be captured, kidnapped or
killed, especially if ISIS—or the Syrian regime—discovered his links to
an American nonprofit with a Jewish cause. “We actually tried to
discourage him,” says Guberman, “but he wanted to go.” The two men
agreed to stay in touch.

What had started as a chance meeting in a quiet museum would soon
become a vital partnership—spanning oceans and war zones—to preserve
ancient history before it vanishes.

A month after their first meeting, Solmaz returned to Guberman’s
office with a file of photographs. The images showed the ruins of a
Jewish village in the mountains separating Iraq from Turkey, near the
headquarters of the Kurdistan Workers’ Party; the insurgent group is at
war with Turkey and the target of frequent Turkish bombing campaigns.
Guberman hadn’t told him to go there because he’d assumed it was too
dangerous. “Jason was shocked,” Solmaz recalled. “He said, ‘How were you
able to get this?’”

Over
the next two and a half years, Solmaz planned multiple trips to Iraq,
northern Syria, Turkey, Israel and Greece, always allaying Guberman’s
concerns about safety. “Jason, I can go there, I am Kurdish,” he’d tell
him. Or “I’m a war correspondent, don’t worry.”

The arrangement has been mutually beneficial. Solmaz hikes mountains,
cajoles locals and travels to war zones to find the endangered sites
Diarna wants to preserve on the internet. In return, Diarna pays him for
photographs, videos and reports, which Solmaz often finds useful for
his projects.

A Diarna expedition photo shows the exterior of the Tomb of Nahum in Alqosh, Iraq.
Diarna
When Diarna launched in 2008, most Jewish synagogues, schools and
cemeteries in the Middle East and North Africa had been out of use for
decades, and many had fallen into disrepair. Most of the estimated 1
million Jews who lived between Morocco and the Arabian Sea abandoned
their homelands to escape anti-Semitic violence in the 1950s and ’60s.
Now wars in Yemen, Iraq and Syria, along with the emergence of ISIS,
which has been attacking ancient sites with pickaxes and dynamite, pose a real threat to preserving the Middle East’s ancient history.

As destroying sacred sites has become increasingly common in the
Middle East, analysts, countries and even some militants have come to
see the costs of destroying them. In September, an Islamist militant
became the first person convicted of a war crime
for destroying cultural and religious sites in Mali. At his trial at
the Hague in the Netherlands, Ahmad al-Faqi al-Mahdi, who was sentenced
to nine years in prison, urged other combatants to refrain from
destroying cultural sites, saying such acts “ are not going to lead to
any good for humanity.”

Thursday, February 23, 2017

The Feast of Jethro, or Seudat Yitro in Hebrew, is an ancient tradition celebrated on the Thursday before parashat Jethro (this week’s parasha) by Tunisian Jews. Vered Guttman reports for Haaretz (with thanks: Lily):

Young Tunisian Jews read the Torah at the al-Ghriba synagogue on Djerba (photo: AFP)

Also known as the holiday of the sons, the feast celebrates the sons of the family (daughters can enjoy it too) and is almost like a doll’s party - the meal is served on small dishes, including miniature cups and flatware (think saucers, dessert forks and shot glasses.)

Mini challahs are baked, and cookies and candies in the shape of children and animals are part of the feast.

The meal starts with sweets, including candies, halva and Tunisian staples like makroud (farina and date cookies) and debla. Tunisian Jews who immigrated to France added Pièce Montée (croquembouche) as a regular component of the feast.

The sweet opening is followed by a meal of vegetable pies called maakouda, salads, green fava beans, and the main course is always stuffed pigeon.

The guests recite poems and read from the Torah, as with any Jewish holiday.

The explanations for this unique tradition vary. Some link it to the story told in Parashat Jethro about Moses’s father-in-law, Jethro, breaking bread with Aharon and the Israelites.

Other explanations are related to the community itself. Some people believe the celebration has to do with a plague that killed many in the community, mainly men and boys.

The plague ended on the week of Parashat Jethro and the sick were healed after eating pigeon soup (hence the stuffed pigeon for the feast). Another explanation may be that this Torah portion is the first time young students get to read the 10 commandments on their own, and the celebration is for them.

Personally, I assume the reason pigeon is served for the main course due to the small-plates, small dishes theme, where a pigeon fits in much better than chicken. Pigeons are common in Arab cuisine, but are hard to find in Israel or in America.

I went for cornish hen instead, and stuffed it with Middle Eastern flavors or citrus, dried fruit and almonds. Serve it on a small salad plate with a dessert fork.

Wednesday, February 22, 2017

Some 800 Karaite Jews live within driving distance of Daly city, a suburb of San Francisco. Their synagogue complex is currently undergoing expansion, with a new library to be named after Joseph Abdel Wahed, co-founder of JIMENA, a''h. This Jewish News of North California article by David Wilensky explains about Karaism and its differences wih rabbinic Judaism. (With thanks: Boruch)

Show up on a Shabbat morning at Congregation B’nai Israel
in Daly City, and — if you’re a typical American Jew — you will see
plenty that’s familiar. At the front of the sanctuary is an ark, and
inside the ark are several Torah scrolls. There is a memorial wall at
the back, listing the names of the community’s lost loved ones. Near the
entrance is a rack of tallits.

It is a custom among Karaite Jews to pray kneeling on the ground, as seen
here in the sanctuary of Congregation B’nai Israel in Daly City.
(Courtesy/Kararite Jews of America)

But before you come in, you must remove your shoes, as Moses did when
he approached the Burning Bush. Examine the rack of tallits, and you
will find that the fringes are knotted and wrapped in an unusual way. In
front of the pews, there is an open space covered in rugs. Some
worshippers sit or kneel on the floor; when they bow, they touch their
heads to the ground. The prayers follow a different structure, and the
sound is very Middle Eastern.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

In the 20th century Jews in Morocco can be said to have had an easier ride than Jews in other Arab countries: they have not been targeted by state-sanctioned discrimination and have benefited from the sultan's protection. In spite of this, however, history tells us that Jews in the ghettoes of the Maghreb suffered more pogroms than in other Arab countries:
Marrakesh (1864 -80), Tripoli (1785). Algiers (1805,1815,1830)
Taza (1903), Settat (1903), Casablanca (1907), Fez (1912). Jews in pre-colonial
North Africa had neither material nor physical security.

Until the colonial era permitted them to move into European
quarters ("ville nouvelle") of Moroccan towns, Jews were confined to the Mellah or Jewish ghetto. This made them particularly vulnerable to mob
violence, particularly during Muslim holidays.

Esther Sidon told Point of No Return: "my grandmother, Lea Azogui née Nahmani, was particularly scared
of the Shishaoua Carnival, lasting almost a week. She would insist on
moving her whole
family to a hotel outside the Meknes nouveau Mellah until this
Muslim Carnival was over. They were able to afford to pay for
accommodation. The
great mass of Jewish residents of the nouveau Mellah were not so
lucky and had to be confined to their homes during the holiday. One year,
Maurice Azogui (my father) recalls, the king had to cancel the carnival
because of outbreaks of violence. The Jews were so happy."

In neighbouring Tunisia, a similar situation prevailed. The writer Albert Memmi recalls in Pillar of Salt 'the frailty of the underdog' to which the poor Jews of the Tunis Hara were exposed:

'If the pogrom never reached the plush
neighbourhoods with their mixed Jewish, Muslim and Christian homes, the huge
ghetto, forgotten in its sordid misery by the antisemites, was under permanent
threat of death. Breaking down any door would reveal Jews behind it. Having
never left this side of the Mediterranean, we felt cut off, exposed to all
sorts of local disasters.'

Monday, February 20, 2017

France continues to be hit by fall-out from the trial of Georges Bensoussan for 'incitement to hatred': public intellectual Alain Finkielkraut has resigned from LICRA - one of the groups backing Bensoussan's prosecution for saying that Arab antisemitism 'is imbibed with mother's milk.' But more controversially, support for the Moroccan-born French-Jewish historian, (author of a seminal work on Jews from Arab countries) is coming from sections of the French far right. Cana'n Lipschitz reports in the Times of Israel (with thanks: Lily):

Georges Bensoussan: antisemitism is cultural

Discontent over Bensoussan’s prosecution
spread to more centrist circles, exposing the left-leaning LICRA to
criticism by Finkielkraut. Last year he received the country’s ultimate
academic distinction when he entered the Academie Francaise pantheon of
great thinkers.

On Jan. 29 Finkielkraut, a member of the
dovish JCall group of French Jews who oppose Israel’s settlement policy,
announced he would be resigning from LICRA over its decision to sue
Bensoussan.

The move “dishonored” LICRA, he said during an
interview with RCJ radio, accusing LICRA of “opting for inquisition”
against Bensoussan.

“I call on all activists, followers and
sympathizers to draw their own conclusions [about LICRA] from this
ignominy,” he said. Finkielkraut called the prosecution of Bensoussan
“an exceptionally grave event politically, judicially and historically.”

During the interview, Finkielkraut noted that
Bensoussan in 2015 was paraphrasing the statements of the Algeria-born
sociologist Smaïn Laacher, a non-Jew who said that anti-Semitism in
Muslim areas is “in the air that one breathes.”

Laacher and Bensoussan were using metaphors,
Finkielkraut argued, and neither “speak of any biological dimension to
the culturally transmitted phenomenon they describe.” That refutes the
“incitement to racial hatred” charge, he said.

But in an election year with the far-right
National Front group leading in the polls, this technicality was soon
eclipsed in the media by the trial’s broader implications on free speech
and race relations.

The trial “is a way of avoiding investigative
thought and any public expression on Islam except for praise,”
Finkielkraut said in the RCJ interview.

In a scathing op-ed in the Marianne weekly,
columnist Martine Gozlan called the trial “shameful” and an attempt to
“silence free thought.”

It’s a recurring accusation by advocates of
several French thinkers, Jews and others, who have paid a personal and
public price recently for speaking out against Islam or in defense of
Israel.

The list includes Michel Houellebecq, who has
received death threats for writing a novel critical of political Islam;
Bernard-Henri Levy, who is reviled by many members of his left-wing
circles for defending Israel, and Finkilkraut himself, who was violently
ejected from a public gathering recently because he is a “Zionist.”

Gozlan also noted that LICRA’s fellow
plaintiff, the Collective Against Islamophobia, has been accused —
including by LICRA itself — of propagating anti-Semitic disinformation
against Prime Minister Manuel Valls, whose wife is Jewish.

On Feb. 2 Philippe Karsenty, the French Jewish
activist and deputy mayor of the Paris suburb of Neuilly-sur-Seine,
echoed Gozlan’s sentiment in an op-ed he wrote with lawyer Pierre
Lurçat.

“How could a group established to defend Jews
come to assist a judicial jihad waged against a Jewish intellectual
specialized in the history of the Holocaust?” they asked.

It was a withering attack on LICRA, a group
founded by a Jewish journalist in 1926 in an effort to defend a Jew
charged with the Paris killing of a Ukrainian nationalist. The Ukrainian
was responsible for pogroms in Ukraine in which the Jewish killer’s
relatives perished.

Amid growing criticism, the head of LICRA,
Alain Jacubowicz, who is Jewish, broke his silence about the affair. In
an op-ed published earlier this month, he accused Bensoussan of
“benefiting extremists” with his statement on Islam.

Jacubowicz had a point.

Bruno Gollnisch, a Holocaust denier and
European Parliament lawmaker for National Front, embraced Bensoussan’s
cause. In a Jan. 25 op-ed published on his website, Gollnisch equated
Bensoussan’s troubles to those of Jean-Marie Le Pen, who was sidelined
as the National Front’s leader after multiple convictions for hate
speech against Jews and Muslims.

“There are truths we’re forbidden to speak,” Gollnisch wrote about both men.

Bensoussan in turn broke his own silence on the affair and replied to Jacubowicz in an open letter published Monday.

Turning Jacubowicz’s claim against him,
Bensoussan wrote that the popularity of a populist, anti-immigrant party
like the National Front is being fueled by “a denial of reality, a
suicidal strategy of blindness and silence.”

Sunday, February 19, 2017

A group of demonstrators picketed a Jewish-owned restaurant on the Tunisian island of Djerba on 17 February in protest at its re-opening after five years and the renewal of its alcoholic drinks licence.

Oscar's Restaurant: in 'violation of Islamic law'

The picketers were claiming that Oscar's Restaurant, a kosher establishment at Houmet el souk, was in violation of Islamic law and its clients were disturbing local residents.

Elie Trabelsi, a Jewish community leader, called the picketers 'hypocrites and racists'. He pointed out that there were more than 12 bars serving alcohol in the neighbourhood.

Bitten is backed by the Tunisian Association for the Support of Minorities. It pointed out that Oscar's restaurant was approved by the Tunisian ministries of tourism and of the interior to sell alcohol, and called for the law to be applied.

About 1,000 Jews still live on Djerba. Tourism is Tunisia's major industry, but it was hard hit in recent years by terrorist attacks on the Barda museum in Tunis and on the beach at Sousse.

Friday, February 17, 2017

For Clemy Lazarus (nee Menir), February 2017 is a very significant anniversary. It is exactly sixty years since she arrived in England as a five-year-old refugee from Egypt. Here is her amazing story, as told to Point of No Return.

'The year 1956
was not the first recorded time that the Menir family was exiled from the land
of their birth. The Encyclopaedia Judaica records that we lived in Tudela,
Spain in the 13th Century, and by the time of the Spanish Inquisition of 1492, we
left Spain and had followed the same route to Egypt as the Rambam (Maimonides).

I
was born in Cairo, Egypt in 1951, and by 1956 my family was caught up in the
conflict that became known as the Suez Crisis. This was for two reasons.
Firstly we were Jewish and secondly my mother was a ‘British Subject'. My
mother had acquired this status along with a British passport by virtue of the
fact that her grandfather had worked for the British in India, generations
earlier. My father’s classification, however, was ‘stateless’. Although he and
his antecedents, for many generations, had been born and lived in Egypt, they
were, nevertheless, deprived of any rights, recognition, or entitlements of
citizenship because we were Jewish. I believe the official status is dhimmi. In
essence we were subjugated and lived as second class citizens. However, we did
enjoy a very good standard of living. My father established a successful
cardboard box manufacturing business in Cairo.

My
father was one of four siblings. He was the eldest and he eventually joined my
mother in England. The second sibling established a life in Paris. The third
went to live in the fledgling state of Israel where he lived under very
difficult conditions in corrugated tin huts in a ma’abara for many years. The
fourth, a sister, remained in Egypt with her aged parents until my grandfather
passed away after which time she and my grandmother eventually moved to Israel.

As
a consequence of the Suez Crisis, my mother, along with all British and French
‘citizens’ were unceremoniously expelled from Egypt. I have a memory of
military personnel marching through our apartment delivering the expulsion
order.

This
caused my parents and grandparents severe heartache as my parents had five
children and my mother was, at the time, six months pregnant with number six.
She was obliged to leave for England on her own, without her husband, but with
five children in tow. She was 24 years of age at the time. She spoke French and
Arabic but no English and she knew no other culture than the Jewish/Egyptian
one in which she grew up.

She
was compelled to leave without any money or possessions of any value. She did,
however, manage to buy a few gold bangles that she wore as jewellery and sold for the
purpose of sustaining us down the line.

Once
in England, my mother was housed in a refugee camp, first in Leeds and then in
Kidderminster. These were essentially former wooden army barrack huts.
When
my mother was ready to deliver her baby, my siblings and I were placed in the
guardianship of the British Red Cross and she was taken to the local hospital
to give birth. This was a particularly harrowing time for her as she had no
means of communicating her concerns. During this time our suitcases were
ransacked and many fine Cacharel clothes were stolen. Added to this, my mother
returned from hospital to find that one of her children was missing. Her
youngest, Vivienne, had developed measles and had been placed in isolation.

After
six months my mother was at the end of her tether. My mother is the sweetest,
most mild mannered, excruciatingly shy woman. Nevertheless, astonishingly, she
found the strength to march into the office of the commander of the refugee
camp. She banged on his desk, swiped all the paperwork to the floor and in her
best newly acquired English she declared, “Captain Marsh, bring my husband!” To
his credit, Captain Marsh did his utmost to make this happen and shortly
afterwards my father joined us in the camps.

My
father had been given permission to leave Egypt on condition that he abandoned
his business, his home and all his possessions. Everything was confiscated by
the Egyptian authorities and to this day we have received not a penny in
compensation.

Marc Cohen, a Jewish refugee departing from Egypt

The
early years in England were extremely difficult for my parents. They had no
money, no home and no livelihood. Added to this, it was against every economic,
social and spiritual tide that my parents maintained a strictly orthodox home.
Shortly
after this we were welcomed by the Birmingham Jewish community, where we were
housed in a Victorian tenement building along with half-a-dozen other refugee
Jewish/Egyptian families, and committed to paying a nominal weekly rent.

My
parents, who started from rock bottom, worked unbelievably hard, living a life
of deprivation and self sacrifice. They devoted all their time and energy to caring
for their family’s wellbeing and education, to the exclusion of all else. After
many attempts to work for others my father was eventually able to set up
a small cardboard box manufacturing business which subsequently grew into a
highly successful one. In this way he himself was then able to provide
employment for many other needy individuals.

From
the moment my parents arrived in England, they showed their gratitude to their
British hosts by naming their new born baby Elizabeth after the Queen of
England. My father enrolled in night school to learn to speak English and soon
spoke English better than any Englishman. My father became a dapper English
gentleman, albeit with an Egyptian accent. When he could afford it he bought my
mother the finest clothes and had bespoke suits made for himself along with
matching bowler hats which he wore jauntily. The pinnacle of his achievement
was when he managed to buy himself a Rolls Royce. As a mitzvah, he shared his
good fortune by using his car to drive many a bride to the Chuppah.

I
and my siblings are certainly ‘forgotten refugees’, but the point is that at no
time in our life did my parents define the family as such. At no point was that
label used as a yoke that bound us to our unfortunate early life. My parents
embraced their new life in exile and worked hard to improve their lot. That is
why I find the plight of the Palestinian refugees so heart-rending. To hold on
steadfastly to a refugee status for seventy years is to deprive oneself, one's
children and grandchildren of the opportunity of leading a productive life of
promise and fulfilment.'

Thursday, February 16, 2017

Christians in Morocco wishing to have freedom to practise their religion are holding up the Jews as the model they aspire to. The mere fact that they are voicing their aspirations on Moroccan TV shows that there is a movement edging slowly towards pluralism. The watershed event was a ruling by a Moroccan religious committee that apostates should not be killed for converting from Islam. Via MEMRI (With thanks: Lily)

A recent TV report highlighted the problems faced by Christian converts
in Morocco, who say that they are denied the right to celebrate
Christmas and New Year's Eve.

Akouri Abdallah, who complained about the
discrimination suffered by Christians, Baha'is and other non-Muslim
believers, said: "My message is that we want the same rights as the
Jews," who "have been enjoying their rights for years." The report aired
on the Moroccan Chouf TV channel on December 25, 2016.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

The Israeli organisation Yad Le'Achim has been helping Arab women with Jewish ancestry return to their roots. Arutz Sheva reports:

Arab women (Flash 90)

Yad L'achim announced last week that in January they had several
cases in which Arab women turned to the organization for help and
thereby discovered their Jewish identities.

These women had lived their entire lives as Arabs, grew up in Arab
villages and were taught Arab beliefs, lived as devout Muslims, and
never suspected themselves to be Jewish.

21-year-old L., 40-year-old S., and 30-year-old A. were born to a
Jewish mother and a Muslim father, and did not know their mother's true
identity. Each woman approached Yad L'achim separately and of her own
accord.

"It's hard to discover when you're already older that you have a
different identity," a Yad L'achim spokesperson said. "These kinds of
situations need to be dealt with differently. This month, we helped
three different women deal with something completely different than what
we're used to. These women are 'meeting' their new identities for the
first time.

"A. was born and raised in the central Arab city of Qalansuwa. She is
a Muslim through and through. A month ago, a relative told her, 'Your
mother is Jewish.'
"A. did not give up, and did an investigation which proved the relative's claim to be true. Her entire world was shaken up."

"When I found out, completely by coincidence, that I was a Jew, I
didn't know what to do," A. said. "I began to quietly learn about
Judaism, and people told me that an organization called Yad L'achim
could help me return to the Jewish people.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

The Jerusalem Post reporter Seth Frantzman visits the Ben Ezra synagogue in Cairo, where the famous medieval Geniza found in the attic testifies to the 'positive relationship between Jews and Muslims'. Under Gamal Abdel Nasser, however, Jews were viewed as outsiders and potential traitors.

A sign from US AID and the Supreme Council of Antiquities adorns a gate
and tourists as well as Egyptian students make up the visitors to the
old synagogue. A sign on the door says “Property of the Jewish
community Cairo.” Around the back, but closed to the public, is a
library and an unexcavated mikveh. On the second floor a small door
that can only be accessed with a ladder leads to a geniza, or storage
room, for sacred documents. It was here that the life story of
Maimonides has come to life.

“There isn’t a home of an observant
Jew in the world that doesn’t have the books of Maimonides and to be
in the place where they were edited and where the texts were discovered
is a great vibe, it’s powerful,” says Yitzhak Sokoloff, founder and
president of Keshet Educational Journeys and a fellow at the Rennert
Center for Jewish Studies at Bar-Ilan University.

On a recent
trip to Egypt with Sokoloff and a tour group organized by Dr. Eric
Mandel of the Middle East Political and Information Network, we saw up
close the Ben Ezra Synagogue where the letters of Maimonides sat in a
geniza for almost 700 years. In 1896 Cambridge University academic
Solomon Schechter led an expedition to archive the Cairo geniza.

Today
some 200,000 documents removed from the synagogue have been catalogued
and studied, shedding light on Jewish life through the ages in Egypt
and beyond.

Sokoloff says the Maimonides letters illustrate the
positive relationship between Jews and Muslims in Egypt in the period.
“The geniza opened up a whole world on what Jewish life was
like…without that we would only have the products of his intellectual
capacity and that is invaluable and moving.”

It shows how Jews traveled throughout the Mediterranean and Muslim world, sometimes as merchants, like Maimonides’s brother.

Even
though the Egyptian Jewish community may be fading away, Sokoloff is
inspired by the way the government has sought to make Ben Ezra part of
the tourist map: “To see Muslim kids coming on a school trip and
learning about Maimonides as part of their tradition and heritage, it
is something they could have blotted out, but it is something they
embrace, the whole experience of Jewish life in Cairo.”

For
decades under Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser Jews were viewed as
outsiders and potential traitors in Egypt, accused of working for
Israel and being part of Zionist plots. Those who remained were
imprisoned and suffered other slights. Like Christians and Muslims,
they had their Jewish religion stamped on their identification cards,
but unlike the others they were often portrayed as a nation apart.

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Introduction

In just 50 years, almost a million Jews, whose communities stretch back up to 3,000 years, have been 'ethnically cleansed' from 10 Arab countries. These refugees outnumber the Palestinian refugees two to one, but their narrative has all but been ignored. Unlike Palestinian refugees, they fled not war, but systematic persecution. Seen in this light, Israel, where some 50 percent of the Jewish population descend from these refugees and are now full citizens, is the legitimate expression of the self-determination of an oppressed indigenous, Middle Eastern people.This website is dedicated to preserving the memory of the near-extinct Jewish communities, which can never return to what and where they once were - even if they wanted to. It will attempt to pass on the stories of the Jewish refugees and their current struggle for recognition and restitution. Awareness of the injustice done to these Jews can only advance the cause of peace and reconciliation.(Iran: once an ally of Israel, the Islamic Republic of Iran is now an implacable enemy and numbers of Iranian Jews have fallen drastically from 80,000 to 20,000 since the 1979 Islamic revolution. Their plight - and that of all other communities threatened by Islamism - does therefore fall within the scope of this blog.)